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Poem

The Country Cemetery

By Elton Camp

This burial yard is the oldest around
Graves of the early 1800s are found
And it remains in use up to this day
When death’s call folks must obey

Oldest markers are fieldstone rude
With hard-carved writing so crude
Words the survivors often misspell
As names and sentiments they tell

A tiny, plain square, but little gave
Not even a name, only “negro slave”
How it got there, none can now know
But no other blacks are there, though

Where the dead rich came to lie
Are shown by markers so high
No expense did relatives spare
So all will know they are there

Some must surely contain the living
“There is no death,” marker is giving
“In heaven,” most tombstones do tell
But not a one reads that, “He’s in hell”

Possibly, everyone there was a saint?
But I am very sure the truth that ain’t
Buried there are both the good and bad
Plenty of both types they must have had

The saddest marker that is found here
Shows a little child laid out on her bier
She has been dead for a hundred years
But we can still sense her family’s tears

Here some of my own ancestors lie
Before I was born, most came to die
It’s sad that about them little is known
It is only names and dates on a stone

But to come back to life they must
“A resurrection of the just and unjust”
But when will come that glorious day
Not a person here on this earth can say

Until that time, they will all rest in peace
All strife and worry at their death did cease
Jesus Christ is the one who paid the price
So that most people may come to live twice

It is true that heaven awaits only the elite
Most who lived, back on the earth will meet
But in conditions they will find very nice
An earth that’s transformed to a paradise

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